Two Devils In A Hotel
by TheDarkAndTheBroken
Summary: A scenario of which Tate Langdon has a surprise meeting with the homicidal murderer James Patrick March.. ONE-SHOT! Enjoy! :)


I gasp for air like it's my first breath in a thousand years. My breathing is heavy as sweat rolls down my face, It's hard to breath, hard to do anything, _even_ see. I lay down on the bed, enjoying every piece of comfort from it, but that's when it hits me, this isn't Violet's bed. I fling up off of the bed, smashing onto the floor with an unexpected and extreme force, making my vision blur. What is the fucking floor made of? Cement? This doesn't feel like the Murder House carpet. Where am I? How did I get here? The look of the room seems old and splintered, older than Murder House anyway. The look is odd, like it isn't a house, something more, something different, like a _hotel_. The smell of the room even seemed rotten, was there something the bed or something? What the fuck is this place?

The door opens behind me, causing me to turn around in shock, and a woman walks in. She didn't look out of the ordinary; reddish hair, looked a bit like a maid, not like Moira though, slightly younger and smiling like nobody was watching her.  
"Oh, hello. I see you're awake, come come, everything has been planned. He's expecting you!"  
That's she began to drag me out of the room, but I nudged her off and let her escort me instead. Who was expecting me? Where the fuck am I? These strange looking halls don't look anywhere near familiar to me; the red velvet lines and the long hallway of doors, nothing made sense to me. Where's Violet? Violet _still_ hates me, but I need to know where is, was she's doing and how she's feeling. But no, I'm stuck with this woman, who's escorting to who the fuck knows, and for what? To see someone I don't even fucking know? WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON?!

"O-oh! Seems someone _else_ has been murdered in Room Six, I gotta' go young man! But allow yourself entry to _Room Sixty-Four_ , and don't be shy about entering! I'll catch up soon!"  
Murder in room six? She didn't seem worried about it at all, she didn't seem like she cared about the death itself, only about, perhaps, cleaning it up? She's a maid, so that would make sense in a weird way. Room Sixty-Four? That number even sounds demented, sends shivers down my spine, the whole place does, there's something weird about it, something that doesn't make sense. I stare around the hotel, noticing a bar straight at the top of the stairs near reception, wouldn't be too bad of an idea to have a gander. The walk was shorter than expected, I must've lost myself to the sight of the hotel, which seemed to be easy to do. But still, something didn't seem off about this place, something far worse than Murder House.

I got to the bar and it seemed like there was nobody serving, but there was a small bell just sitting on the counter.  
"Well, I guess I better try it."  
I ding the bell, and surprisingly enough, someone immediate came to the bar. The way they look is, how do I say it without being rude, _different_. I personally don't know if they're a male or a female, which makes me want to tread carefully, especially when they freak me the fuck out.  
"How's things, hun'? What's your poison?"  
Male voice, definitely a man dressed like a woman. They seem okay, they don't seem worried about being judged, I mean, they're probably judged all the time. I don't know what to refer them as, male or woman? I'm worried that I'm going to say something wrong, but I haven't spoken to anyone for a _long_ time, I've lost count of the _months_ , which doesn't sound good as it is. But they asked me a question, so I better answer.  
"Black Whiskey," I say, watching the woman or man or whatever pour me a large glass, sliding it towards me.

I grab the glass and let the burning liquor into my mouth, feeling it burn harshly as I swallow. I hear the bartender giggle as I choke on my drink, but ask for another. That's when I realise what I don't have.  
"Oh shit! I'm sorry Ma'am, I don't have any money."  
"It's okay, hun'. It's _Devil's Night_ and if Mr March finds out I didn't give his guest free drinks, he would let his little pet onto me. Oh, and my name is Liz by the way Mr Langdon."  
She knew my name, somehow she knew. Mr March, that's the name, but who's the guy? Devil's Night? Halloween? I don't know what's going on, all I know is the whiskey is nice, a lot nicer than how Violet has been treating me. I still would do anything to see her for a _single_ moment. I ask Liz for another drink, and she pours me another, and before I knew it, a young looking woman was at the bar. She had blonde frizzle hair with dark make-up, I didn't even realise I was staring, but Liz stops me.  
"No, no! Not her, Mr Langdon. She's not good business, alright, it's time for you to reach Room Sixty-Four or Mr March will be mad, nobody wants that."

* * *

These halls didn't seem to end. Where the fuck is that room? I've found the forties, but I can't seem to find anything else. I've passed doors and doors, and more fucking doors, and still, _nothing_. Mr March is surely going to be angry, who is this guy? Why are people so scared of him? I've seen and taken part in things; the _Infantata_ , students being murdered by a psychotic murder, among other things. People at Murder House hate me more than they fear me, which I don't blame them about it. I gotta' stop thinking about it, it doesn't matter anymore. Meeting this March guy, that's what's on my top priorities right now, doesn't seem like such a bad one. That's when I see a man wandering around the halls, looking like he knows his way around. Black slick hair and a weird about him, like he was fighting something inside, but I ignore it.

"Excuse me, do you know where roo-"  
"Room Sixty-Four is right down the hall, Mr Langdon. I'm _John Lowe_ , Mr March is awaiting patiently in the room, let yourself in. He wants to be quick about it, and he's eager to meet you, so I'd rush a little."  
The man just walks off, but I saw what he didn't want me to see; the knife in his jacket. He was a _killer_ , like me, probably worse, and I didn't feel like stopping to ask. I rush down the hall, seeing the great big sixty-four on the door at the end of the hall, the very last door of the hall. Thank god for that, time to finally meet this March guy. I go to open the door, but it opens itself, and I hear a voice inside. I slip through the gap the door created and walk straight into the cosy looking room, seemed big enough to be an office. I turn the corner and there he is, Mr March, although I could only see the back of his black haired head, by the look of the suit, this was all on good time. I look at my own clothes, full black, except a white shirt, I guess I could've dressed more for the occasion.

He turns and faces me. He face, the look of it, no fucking way. He, he looks like me? He looks exactly like me?! Everything but his black hair, moustache and the way he dressed, change all that and that's me. This is so peculiar, what the fuck? Jesus Christ, have I drunk too much? I couldn't but stare, speechless, which was good, because he got to speak.  
"Mr Langdon! Nice to finally meet the legend himself! The darkness! The Rubber Man! I've heard a lot about you, you know."  
Who was this guy? Mr March, I didn't even know he's full name. He didn't seem shocked or worried about the fact we looked like fucking twins.  
"James Patrick March," he smirks, his hand reaching out, indicating a need for a handshake, one I willingly take part in.  
"Tate Langdon, but I guess you already knew that."  
"Right you are, young man. It is Devil's Night! And I have an extremely important party to intent to, so it's best I make this quick. Don't worry, as soon as we're done here, you'll be sent back to the place you came from. So let's start."

We sat down at a close table, more black whiskey there, Liz must've quickly tipped him off. James' eyes seemed so maddened, crazy, like he's a big-shot mental patient, but even I didn't have the balls to tell him that. There was something odd about the man that was, at the moment, pouring me a drink. Why am I here? What's my purpose of being here? I guess I'll just have to ask him that.  
"Mr March?" I say.  
"Yes, young man? Did I pour too much?" he jokes, pouring even more liquor in the glass.  
"No, no, not at all. But I do need to ask, why am I here?"  
He chuckles to himself like a sadistic villain, which didn't seem much to me, I've heard worse. "I guess I'm just going to have to show you, drink up first."

I take the glass and chug the liquor again, feeling none of the burn, must've been the anticipation. March, instead, drank his drink much slower, savouring it as he stares. And that's when he begins to speak.  
"Every killer, has their _darkness_ , their _power_ , their _ambition_. They come in many forms too; nightmares, visions, drunk-induced comas, and much more. But yours," he jams his hand onto my wrist, gripping it tightly. I can feel something burn on his skin, and that's when dark tattoos appear on skin. "Yours is much more sophisticated in a way. I can help you find your purpose, I can help you make everyone that has ever _wronged_ you, _fear_ you as the person you are, even that girl you so ever 'love'. But she doesn't care about you, but I DO! WE CAN BE MORE! YOU CAN BE MORE! AND I CAN HELP YOU!  
"STOP IT!" I pull away.

I gasp for air again, but this time it's more violent. I feel like I've been swallowed, but vomited back up. I feel cold hands on me, and a panic, but that's before I hear the soft voice of Nora Montgomery.  
"Tate, hey, hey! It's just a dream, It's just a dream."  
I calm instantly at the sound of her voice, it was always so damn calming. I hug her like it's been the first time in forever.  
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Just had a bad dream," I tell her, pulling back from the hug. I notice the look of the place around me; Murder House Basement, never ever felt this much like home. I watch around the basement, seeing Violet's little head poking around the corner, but for the first time, I don't act upon it, I don't want to risk scaring her off.  
"Thank you, Nora. Thank you for waking me up from that hell."  
But that's when I feel something in the pocket of my jacket, something strange but similar. I pull out a small note. How did this get here? What the fuck is it? I flip open the note, revealing words that bring chills down my spine.

 _I'm sorry it wasn't meant to be Tate  
_ You have so much potential and you're wasting it  
But it's your choice  
I believe we have a great future ahead of us  
\- James Patrick March  
PS. Good luck with getting the girl back, I'm sure you'' find a way

Oh god, It _wasn't_ a dream.


End file.
